


A Picture Worth a Thousand Days

by thelovelylydia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Father/Daughter Bonding, Selfies, being cute, elle fanning is the inspiration of the daughter, missing parent because of work, sanrion children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: Her father’s job as Adviser to the King and Queen means that he is not home often, When he is, she relishes the time. He records it with snapshots.Modern AU.





	A Picture Worth a Thousand Days

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked the sidewalk, hands pushed into her rose-colored long jacket. Her blonde hair whipped in the window and she found herself extracting a hand to brush away a stray strand of light yellow that tickled at her face. She itched at her small button nose as the lock irritated the soft pale skin. She shuddered against the cold.

"Did you bring any gloves?" The man at her side asked. The girl shook her head.

"It's only October; I didn't think I would need a pair." She admitted sheepishly. The man sighed, digging into his vest pockets, extracting a small pair of black gloves balled into a sphere. He held it up towards her.

"As your mother is so fond of saying," he hunched over, his hands digging into his pockets as he bore against the winds. "Winter is coming. At least, it is in the north."

The girl smiled at her father's grumpiness; he had just flown up from the south after a week of spending time on the shores of Dorne— it was huge adjustment returning to the city of Winterfell.

"Are you flying back tomorrow?" The girl asked as she tucked her hands into the gloves that were simultaneously too small and too large for her long narrow hands.

"I am supposed to," her father glanced up at her underneath his thick brow, "but I'm not sure. I haven't had a decent vacation since before summer and I'm feeling it. I haven't had a proper stay in Winterfell in at least two years, so I may make up an excuse of not being able to leave until Monday. Besides, there's a special occasion this weekend." He looked back at the girl coyly.

"Mum wants to stay a little longer, visiting Uncle Bran," the girl followed her father as he ducked down an alley, taking a little-known shortcut.

"And what do you want to do?"

"I miss Casterly Rock," she answered. "I know these cold streets are mum's home, but they're not mine. I miss the beaches and the condos and the sun sinking into the sea at the end of the day. Whenever we go into the back garden here there are so many trees and leaves. And it's freezing." She hugged herself for good measure as a sharp gust of wind nipped at her.

Her father chuckled as he shook his head, quickening his pace in the wake of the dropping temperatures. "You don't need to remind me," he popped his hood over his brassy curls. "But your mother has ice flowing through her veins as much as you have the sun."

"Where would you like to live?" The girl asked, leaning to the side to try to catch a glimpse of the profile of his face. She imagined he might say something luxurious like Dorne or King's Landing, or more convenient, like Dragonstone which was much closer to where he worked daily.

He did not answer as he stepped onto another street, looking first to the left and then to the right. She followed as he chose to go north, his hands burying deeper into his pockets. Her purse banged against her thigh as she lengthened her strides after him.

"At the moment," he paused before a door. "I like to be where it is warm." One of his hands pulled from his pockets and took hold of the handle of the restaurant before them. The sign,  _The White Ghost,_ creaked as it swayed against the fall winds; the image of a stalking direwolf against a wooden landscape was carved in oak above the iron lettering.

The father held the door open for his daughter, laughing as she hurried past him into the cold. Her whole body shuddered as if finally bucking off the last bit of cold when she entered the warm reception area. She pulled her hands from her pockets, rubbing her covered palms together.

The maître d' smiled, her red mouth parting in a smile, but her eyes did not crinkle. The girl groaned internally, not wanting a scene to be caused at this restaurant, too.

"How can I help you this evening?"

"We have reservations," the father pulled his phone from his pants pocket, quickly thumbing open the lock screen and navigating to his email app. "Lord Tyrion Lannister and his daughter, Lady Joanna."

Joanna blushed whenever her father used their addresses. Titles were important to Queen Danaerys, who seemed to forever be proving her place beside Joanna's Uncle Jon, and she knew her father was just used to listing them.

Though Joanna wondered if perhaps it might be because of the way the woman looked down at her father with a spark of disdain in her misty eyes as she took in his short legs that caused him to waddle, his stunted arms that kept him from reaching the phone up to the woman's face, and the scar that cut across the man's face, dividing his eyebrow, nose, and cheek in half in a diagonal line that swept from hairline to jawbone.

Sometimes father was trying as hard as Queen Dany to prove his place, too.

"Yes, of course, your wife called earlier this morning to confirm your reservations," the woman's mouth pursed, as if she were sucking on a lemon, but she ushered the girl and man through the crowded restaurant.

She led the two to a small table over in the corner of the restaurant that was dimly lit; a corner booth that was upholstered with modern black pleather. Joanna removed her coat before she slid into her spot. Her father pulled away his vested coat before he took his place.

The two had dressed nicely; she had borrowed a pair of her mother's black corset high waist pants, cinched at her small middle, paired with a causal white t-shirt, he wore a pair of black trousers matched with a black shirt.

"Here is the menu for this evening," the maître d' said as she handed the pair a tall brochure.

Joanna sat up, brushing her hair behind her ear as she impishly looked up at the woman, "Where is your wine list?"

"Ah, no," Tyrion laughed, his face tight with forced amusement as he shook his head at this daughter's request. "We won't be needing that for the evening."

"If you wish," the woman raised her eyebrow and Joanna knew that the maître had heard the rumors of her father's penchant for drink. The girl immediately felt bad for the jest. "I can always bring one later."

"No, that's alright," her father said. "I think food and dessert will be fine."

"I will have one of my waitresses around in a moment," the woman tipped her head. "Enjoy your meal."

"Thank you," the Lannisters said in unison.

Joanna crossed her legs, leaning back in the booth as she opened her menu. Her blue eyes swept the menu, looking for something that would be both appetizing and sound classy. She liked when people thought she knew more about high society life than she did. Most of what she learned was from  _Desperate Housewives of King's Landing_ , and even then, Mum said that most of the women were anything but classy.

With a hum, she decided upon a pasta dish filled with cheese that seemed to be bougie version of macaroni and cheese. When she had settled upon her dinner choice, she closed the menu. That was when she noticed him staring. His elbows rested on the table, his hands pressing against his cheeks as his green eyes watched her fondly.

"Eck, Dad, you're creeping me out," Joanna flushed as she reached for her purse, looking for her phone.

"When did you get so big?" He asked, causing Joanna to roll her eyes.

"Dad, please," she groaned. "I'm not like, thirty, or something."

"No, but you are turning sixteen in a couple days," he sighed as he sat up, his stunted fingers opening the rolled-up silverware. "You're becoming a woman and I feel like I'm missing it all."

"You aren't," Joanna insisted. "And when you can't be there, I know you're doing so many important things. Mum says that Westeros wouldn't be what it is without you advising the King and Queen."

"Your mother is far too complimentary of an old man like me," he itched at his beard, his flustered habit, and Joanna noticed the silver that now streaked the dark blond. "I am sure your Uncle Jon would be fine on his own. Queen Dany on the other hand…," his eyebrows raised and he let out a forceful breath. "But we don't need to talk about my boring job. That's not what we came for," he looked back at her. "How are things going at school?"

"You go from work to school as if that would be less boring?" Joanna let out a laugh.

"You're right," he brushed his blond curls from his face. "Not a good move on your dear old dad's part."

Joanna erupted with a fit of giggles as the waitress approached. The woman took a long time to stare at the Lannister patriarch, her eyebrow flittering upwards, but she kept a straight face as she took the small family's order. Joanna indulged her father in talking about how school was going, saying she really enjoyed English and history, but hated science. She was going to audition for the spring play because her English teacher who was also the director thought she would be good for the part of Juliet (the man had chosen the enduring tragedy as the spring show). She was preparing for her winter piano recital, and she was trying to juggle all her interests and homework with indoor track to stay in shape.

She had finished catching her father up on her academics and hobbies when their dishes had arrived. The waitress put a steaming plate of cheesy pasta before Joanna, whose stomach immediately roared with hunger. Her father chuckled as he took up a knife for the steak set before him. The two tucked into their meals as soon as the waitress left them.

"I find it interesting that your school is doing  _Romeo and Juliet_ ," Tyrion said after he swallowed a chunk of steak.

"I guess it's going to be influenced by The Great Battle," she said. "Romeo will come from the land of fire and Juliet from the isle of ice."

"No wonder your teacher thought you would be a good Juliet," Tyrion said. "You look so much like your mother. When did you start wearing makeup?"

"Dad!" Joanna groaned. "It's just a little eyeliner and mascara. Mum won't buy me anything fancy or professional until I'm sixteen, says she doesn't want me 'growing up too fast'," she cradled her fork in the curve of her thumb as she used her fore and middle finger in both hands to draw air quotes. "And besides, I have your hair and your nose."

"Don't remind me about the nose," Tyrion groaned. "But at least I gave you something that could suite your mother's beautiful face. I know how your grandfather must have felt about your mother now that I see you. Sixteen," he whistled.

"I wish I knew them," Joanna said as she twirled noodles about her fork.

"Ned and Catlyn?" Tyrion sighed. "They were good folks; they would be pleased to see how Jon is making Westeros as great as the north was under your grandfather's governing. And how your mother is thriving at Casterly Rock, so happy with children and a home."

"I wish I could have met your parents, too," Joanna paused before taking a bite. "At least my namesake."

"You were spared not to meet your grandfather," Tyrion grunted. "He was a heartless man that wanted nothing more than honor and accolades and gold."

"But Casterly Rock is well organized and run; surely he must have done something right?"

"Why all the questions, Jojo?"

Joanna tucked her chin into her chest as she let out a chest heaving sigh. "Well, we were supposed to be working on our family trees in history class, y'know, studying sigils and stuff. We need to interview people in our family about those people. I asked Mum all about Nana Cat and Pop Ned," she had never met them, but she could not help but feel as if their presence was with her everywhere, with the pictures and shrines her mother erected to honor their memory. "But I know nothing of Grandma Joanna or Grandpa Tywin."

"You would better off not knowing much about your grandfather on my side other than that he was a clever and wise general, a shrewd advisor, and a shit father," her father answered. "Don't tell your mother I swore in front of you."

"You know I never do."

"As for your Grandma Joanna?" Her father's face twisted with pain as he paused in sawing at his steak, his arms bowing at the elbows. "I wish I could tell you all about her. I am afraid I can't. All I know of her was the tales that your Aunt Cersei told me in spite and the memories your Uncle Jaime had left."

The two siblings of her father were dead, buried before Joanna's time before the end of The Great Battle. Joanna's head hung; her mother had told her not to breech the topic with her father when he returned from Dorne because such talk would upset him.

"I'm sorry," Joanna sighed. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner."

"You haven't," Tyrion looked up at his girl earnestly. "Every moment you spend with me, Jojo, no matter how painful it might be— none of it is ruined." He reached out to squeeze her hand. "I wish I could be home more with you and mother and Robb and Gerion and Benjen and Cat."

"When are you coming home?"

"Soon," her father looked at her earnestly. "Queen Dany and King Jon are growing past my capacity to help them. I believe that Maester Sam will be a better adviser than I can be. Besides, he and Lady Gilly reside in Dragonstone where the King and Queen reside. I am tired of planes and trains and car rides. I'm ready to stay home, to govern Casterly Rock the way my father did…but with more kindness, with better character."

"Do you mean it?" Joanna beamed as she scooted closer to her father.

"Would you two like dessert?" The waitress interrupted, earning the glare of the father and daughter.

"Two slices of chocolate cake, please," Tyrion said to the woman, sending her off. Turning to his offspring, he nodded his head. "Your Uncle Jon is giving me leave in December."

"You'll be home for my play!" Joanna grinned, her cheeks burning as they spread as wide as they could.

"Jojo, I want to be home for more, for everything."

"I am so happy," Joanna flung her arms about her father. She kissed his cheek affectionately.

The cakes arrived and the two ate in raptured joy. Joanna was prattling merrily about all the things they could do when he was home during the week and Tyrion explained that he would need to split his time with her siblings, too, but that he would go to every recital, every concert, every play, every game, every open house that he missed when he was in Dragonstone or traveling about the country.

Joanna noticed that the cakes served were the richest she had ever had and she didn't know if it was because  _The White Ghost_ had outdone themselves, or if it was because she was so very, very happy.

The two finished their cakes, asked for the rest of their dinner to be boxed, and slid from the booth to don coats and brace themselves for entering the brutal cold of Winterfell fall.

"You know how you asked me where I would like to live?" Tyrion asked his daughter as he zipped up his vest.

Joanna had forgotten, but she eagerly nodded her head as if she was still on the edge of her seat waiting for an answer. "It's wherever you are," her father said. "As sappy and stupid as it is, wherever you and your mother and your siblings are…that is where I want to be. On the beach of Casterly Rock or in the snowdrifts of Winterfell. I keep your pictures so close to me whenever I am away because I miss you so."

"Mum asked me what I really wanted for my birthday," Joanna said as she buttoned her coat, "and I told her something about some clothes from King's Landing, but what I really wanted was for you to come home. And I'm so glad it came true!" Joanna bent over, throwing her arms about her father as she pressed her cheek to his. "Does that mean you won't need any more pictures of me?" Joanna asked.

"Gods, no!" Tyrion laughed. "I will need all the pictures I can get so I can cling to the false hope that you'll be young forever and you'll never leave me and your mother when you go out on dates and go off to prom and, in a few years, leave for college."

"Let's take a picture now, then!"

"What?" Her father balked, but Joanna nodded her head eagerly.

"Yeah! You got your phone," she beamed as he pulled his phone from his pocket. She took a seat on the edge of the booth so that she was closer to his height. "We can take a selfie."

Tyrion laughed as he shook his head, but he unlocked his phone and opened the camera, pointing the front of his phone toward them. Joanna wrapped her arm about her father's back, her face pressing against his. Her cheek itched as his beard pressed against the soft skin, but she smiled happily all the same as her father grinned. He quickly snapped the picture.

"There," she smiled as they examined the picture. "It's a great one, dad!"

"Only because you're in it!" Her father laughed. "Now, get your stuff so we can hurry through the cold and get back to Uncle Bran's before we turn to icicles."

"Yeah!" Joanna preemptively shivered as she fetched her purse and the bag of take home food from the booth.

* * *

Sansa sat on the guest bed that she and her husband shared while staying at Bran's. She had changed into a pair of yoga pants and black t shirt of her husbands before she cuddled under the furs. She had grown up in the cold north of Winterfell, but she had grown more accustomed to the warmth of Casterly Rock with each passing year.

She was scrolling through her social media when her phone buzzed; a message from her spouse. She opened it, smiling as a picture graced her screen. She clicked on it to zoom in and admire the two.

Her husband and her daughter, the pair ever so related. He liked to say that their eldest had been gifted with her mother's look and cursed with her father's nose, but Sansa always saw Tyrion when she looked at Joanna.

The girl's round face with its small, high apple cheeks were pink from the cold and the adherence of a little too much blush. The same dimples that her father possessed pushed at the corners of her mouth. Tyrion's were hidden by his graying beard. Short foreheads and button noses easily marked the two as related. The only difference in their mugs was that Joanna possessed Sansa's eye shape and color while Tyrion's hooded green eyes squinted brightly in the picture he took next to his daughter. Joanna had his family coloring, blonde, with her mother's fairer skin.

Sansa flicked the picture upwards to look at the caption.

_Jojo and I are heading home. Letting her drive (don't kill me!). See you soon._

Sansa smiled as she pushed her head into the pillow. She was about to put her phone away when it dinged with an alert that a new message had arrived.

 _Also, it's damn cold in Winterfell and I miss your warmth._ He had included the picture of a peach and an aubergine.

Sansa let out an amused huff as she put her phone away. She'd think about it.

His chances were good though; her heart was so full.

Sansa's eyes were heavy with sleep, but she reached for her phone once again, even though no alert sounded. She found herself pulling up the picture.

She drifted off with the sight of two of the loves of her life grinning back at her, filled with contentment, joy, and love.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this exclusively with the selfie of Peter Dinklage and Elle Fanning from the 2017 Sundance Film Festival in mind. Elle looks like she could be a Sanrion child.
> 
> As always, leave a like if you can. Comment if you're able!
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
